


Revelation

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Series: Fruit of Eden [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ORIGINALLY POSTED: March 08, 2010</p><p>There is more to this future than fire and brimstone ... thanks to Sam.</p><p>Written as a coda to entangled_now's stunning fic; <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/151704">The Nature of Apples</a>. (Read that before you read this.) Thank you for writing it, dear!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelation

He’s far away, somewhere far away where he can’t be touched, can’t be found. 

A desert maybe, he isn’t certain. The sand beneath his knees is hot, but he doesn’t notice that. 

Lucifer’s clothes are in disarray; shirts rumpled, faded jeans hanging open with his boxers shoved out of the way. His hand is wrapped around his own cock, stroking and twisting desperately, tears streaking his cheeks as he tries to understand. 

The end is quick, sharp, and too bright, leaving him a quivering mess of doubt, shame, and self-loathing. 

He stares at his hand, coated in his own release, tainted with its humanness. 

But that is where he pauses, remembers, travels back to that phantom hotel room and recalls what Sam showed him. 

_“You want to know why we do the things we do …”_

With a choked sob, he can feel Sam’s hand on him, working him open and raw with nothing but words and touches. 

The archangel’s body curls over, trying to shield him from it, from all of it. 

The heel of his hand is shoved against his groin, desperately willing himself to quell the sudden flames kindling in his abdomen. 

_“How much do you feel in that body?”_

“Everything!” the word tears from his throat before he can stop it, and now he’s sobbing in earnest, salt tracks on his cheeks and damp circles in the sand. 

_That_ body is his, and his alone. His Grace flows through every vein, every cell, providing a living strength beyond anything mortal man can comprehend. 

_“Do you want me to stop?”_

“No … no …” Lucifer’s voice is a shattered wreck, not even a shadow of its former, almost ethereal timbre. 

And there … in that moment … is the revelation. 

He doesn’t want it to stop, he doesn’t want it to end, he doesn’t want it to dissolve into fire and brimstone and the cries of the damned. 

For the first time in his long existence, the archangel quavers in the face of his choice. His choice … a human hardly old enough to comprehend the complexities of even a single decade of his long life. 

Irony? The fact that he is now intending to approach a member of the race he had set out to decimate? Perhaps. 

Perhaps something else entirely. 

The Morningstar had never held much stock in the illustrious illusion of Fate. His Fall from Heaven ensured that. 

But perhaps Fate now deigned to rise from the mists of time and offer him a fairer hand; the slippery thing humans referred to as a ‘second chance’. 

His expression slips into a concentrated frown, doubt once again rearing its head. A single human? A single human was worth the world? 

That single human had shown him how to _feel_ … not just catalogue tactile sensations like a sterile lab experiment. That single human had exposed pieces of him that he had kept buried for so long, he had almost forgotten they existed. 

Maybe, just this once, he is about to be proven wrong. Proven wrong that humans had nothing to offer. 

Perhaps they had more to offer than he had ever conceived, but had been too blinded by pride and ignorance to see. 

Almost as a knee-jerk reaction, Lucifer seeks out his brother’s Grace, honing in on the comforting beacon and focusing on the place. And with a thought, he is there, the telltale rumble of a thunderclap following in his wake. 

The Winchesters are obviously dead asleep in their hotel-room-of-the-week, and Castiel remains inside, guarding them. He knows his brother sensed his presence, but, like the well-taught soldier he was, the angel isn’t about to come blazing out of the hotel to confront him and leave the brothers unprotected. 

The meeting could wait for the morning hours. 

Until then, Lucifer strode over to the glistening ebony Impala. All things considered, the vehicle truly was a visual masterpiece, even if the archangel possessed extremely limited experience with cars. 

He leans against the passenger side door, slinging one ankle over the other as he crosses his arms. His posture is reclined, but the way he holds himself belies the tension humming within his frame. Things are about to change. 

_“Sam … I am here.”_ The Morningstar calls to the younger Winchester, weaving delicately into his mind to leave the message. 

_“W-wait …_ here _here? How the fuck-nevermind. If you want me, come and get me. I’m waking up right now to make sure I take as many of your flunkies with me as I can.”_

_“That is not the reason I am here, Sam.”_

_“… bullshit.”_

_“I cannot lie. And I told you I would never lie to you.”_

_“Alright … fine. I’m actually going to get some decent sleep and you’re going to explain things tomorrow. I still don’t believe you … just so you know.”_

_“I am not asking you to believe me, Sam. I am just asking you to hear me out. Which, in itself, is a monumental request. Rest now … we’ll continue this tomorrow.”_

_“Ok. Now out of my head.”_

_“As you wish, Sam.”_


End file.
